Poems From An Idle Mind

Tippy tippy toe.

i've never been a dancer but I tippy,tippy toe

I twist my legs in a weird cross, a lousy attempt at ballet

with my arms stretched out in hopes that I'll gain some balance Chin up. Chest Out. Brave.


 My tousled hair can speak for itself,

the tired face it sits on might even have a tale or two. but all of that will have to come after this lonely dance.


 I'm not even sure what we're doing.

Are we celebrating something? mourning?

you have a glass of wine in your hand, you're dancing but you carry sad eyes that look like shiny medals of honor the universe bestowed upon you when your tears touch them.


Tippy, tippy toe

the mirror is my only audience

toast to art and liberation roll my hips to sad songs and switch it up sometimes with electronic madness, a little something for the spirits that came to watch, to witness my unbecoming.

We're all having so much fun.